


Who Else Could It Be

by shinesurge



Category: Kidd Commander (Webcomic)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 15:23:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15688158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinesurge/pseuds/shinesurge
Summary: Bel finds Ulrich backstage after everyone else has gone home.





	Who Else Could It Be

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place _long_ before canon. This was written before we got a name for the girl following Ulrich around in the periphery of his existence but I really wanted to play with this dynamic, so excuse the pronoun game.
> 
> This is technically canon compliant, but it doesn't really serve the narrative and the nature of their relationship won't be brought up for a long time, so do with that what you will.

Ulrich surfaced a little when he felt hands on him, even in this fugue state fighting off the low hum of panic that always came with touch. He’d collapsed on the dressing room couch in the middle of the day, curling defensively inward when some kind person bustling about between shows tucked an oversized costume coat around him. The hands here now were slender and invasive, reaching under the coat with no hesitation to rake long nails over his back. He sighed through his nose. She had come after him again.

Scratching turned to kneading after some time, the hands found their way up to comb through his hair, as long as it had ever been. A thumb lingered too long over the destroyed shell of his left ear, mean purple scars gnarling around the space where flesh used to be. Finally he responded.

“Don’t.” He mumbled. The thumb disappeared from his ear, reappeared in a smooth gesture across his lips with long fingers cupping over his cheek. He opened his eyes and groggily considered the owner through the filthy lens and bent frame of his glasses.

“How are you?” she asked. Her voice was hoarse, like she'd been shouting all day.

Ulrich reached to pull her hand from his mouth before responding, knowing she was looking for an excuse to slide her thumb over his tongue. She smelled like alcohol. She tangled her fingers in his and familiar apprehension bloomed in the pit of his stomach.

“I am fine. I’m tired.”

She fretted over him, climbed onto the couch to settle down into his arms, pinning one underneath her. He turned to lay on his back and she rested her head on his chest. Her fingers idly slipped between the buttons on his dress shirt and Ulrich rubbed his eyes under his glasses.

“You must have slept most of the day,” she murmured. “it wasn’t enough?”

“Never is.” he quipped before he caught himself, his tone needlessly bitter. He didn’t like to make her worry.

She was undoing the buttons on his shirt, one, two, three more, until she could smooth her hand over his chest. Ulrich blushed. His heart was beating embarrassingly fast and he knew she could feel it.

“Relaaaax,” she purred. “what are you so nervous for? It's only me.”

“I’m not,” he said, in a way that completely contradicted the statement. She sat up and tossed the coat on the floor in a whirl of shiny brass buttons and mothballs. She straddled him neatly and continued to divest him of his clothes, freeing his shoulders and fussing his open shirt down around his sides, bunching the sleeves near his elbows. Her eyes over so much of his bare skin broke him into a sweat. He exhaled heavily, she pressed her palms over his chest and leaned down close. She smelled like peppermint and fireworks and stabbing moscato and the scent curled languidly in his head.

“It’ll be nice,” she crooned into his ruined ear. Her breath against his temple made him shiver, her tongue over his scars made him shake. “don’t you like when we do this?”

“I don’t-” he struggled for words while her voice coiled behind his eyes. “I don’t love you, that way. I’m not sure-”

“Neither do I,” she kissed the side of his jaw. “but who else is there for us? Who could there ever be?”

He had no answer, just like every other time she said these things to him. She kissed him, pressed her tongue against his clumsily and revelled in making a mess. She reached behind her head and pulled the pin from her hair. It cascaded around them both and she was suddenly everywhere, Ulrich thought deliriously, tangling around him like a nest of snakes. The word “trapped” settled in the middle of his head like lead. He realized no one had passed through the dressing room since she got here and there was no ambient noise from the theater. What time was it? Was he supposed to be somewhere?

Her tongue was in his mouth, still, saliva was starting to spill over his lips and he floundered a bit, his body responding but his brain refusing to slow down. He couldn’t remember how but her own shirt was suddenly too loose around her, and he must have missed a cue she was giving because here she took his hands and guided them over her body. Ulrich watched numbly as his hands slid over her bra, a lacy, obscenely expensive thing that unhooked in the front. She demonstrated. Ulrich had seen every inch of her, touched and tasted, but he still felt color flush into his face at the sight of her breasts falling into place, sweated and fidgeted when he started to grow harder underneath her. He faltered for a beat too long.

“You know, lots of men would LOVE to be in your position,” she huffed, apparently unimpressed with his enthusiasm. She took his fingers under her own and twisted them around her nipples, tentatively letting go after a moment. Ulrich kept up the movements on his own, more gently than she had. Always too gentle.

“I know,” he said softly, just to have something to say. He felt her stiffening at his touch and his breath hitched. He cleared his throat awkwardly. He couldn’t meet her eyes on his own, but she placed a hand along the side of his face and twined her fingers in his hair, turning him to face her.

“Don’t be so shy,” she slurred. “you’re so pretty, Ulrich.”

She took off his glasses, folded them and tossed them down on top of the coat, completely out of reach. Mercifully, Ulrich’s world swam out of focus. Still looking to avoid her gaze, he gripped her hips and nudged her forward until he was facing her chest instead of her invasive eyes. He caught her in his mouth, one hand gingerly kneading what he couldn’t reach, the other fitting itself between the waistband of her skirt and her black tights. Want jolted through his treacherous body and he whined around the skin in his mouth as he felt himself straining against his clothes. He was faintly thankful she couldn’t feel it this time at least. She was folded over him now, her head resting on her wrists on the arm of the couch, and her breath was starting to come heavy and hot.

Ulrich felt a bit smothered in spite of the size advantage he had on her, but this was immensely preferable to being _watched._ He worked to keep his thoughts on his movements, trying to call up the mechanical focus that kept his stage performances fluid and easy, but her skin was so soft, her belly was so warm where it fluttered over his, her stern voice was made so delicate and unrecognizable shaped around her moans and sighs. He wished he could appreciate it as eagerly as his body did. He did love her, somehow, but these weren’t lovers’ trysts. Laying with her was clinging to the other person on a lifeboat while the ship sank. All the lovely things about her only served to remind him how much had been taken from them, that there were things left to be taken later.

She knew it too, Ulrich was certain, but she’d always been much better at ignoring than he was. She also lacked his aversion to wine.

His newly shaggy hair was sticking irritatingly to the sweat on the back of his neck.

He changed sides, brought up his other hand to pinch her where his tongue had teased her. He bit her breast just enough to hold her in place while he rolled his tongue over her skin, blood and heat swelling under his touch. She shivered when he ran his thumbs across her. It wasn’t so bad, maybe. This was something nice he could do for her.

Her weight changed and she ground her body lower against him to make their faces level, her wet kisses missing his lips for his cheeks, his forehead, nosing his face out of the way to dig at his neck. Her dark hair was everywhere again and Ulrich’s breathing became shallow as it whispered over his bare chest like fingers. She rose up on her knees, staring down her nose and looming with authority even through her flush and disarray. She took his hands and ran them up her thighs. Ulrich swallowed hard.

“Do something about these,” she said, letting go. Ulrich fought the urge to cover his face, dizzyingly aware that the worn texture of her tights under his hands marked where her thighs rubbed together under her skirt. She wasn’t wearing anything else underneath. He licked his lips nervously before he spoke.

“Ah-” his voice was pathetic to his own ears, ratcheting a few notes higher with another thrum of self-consciousness. “I- can’t you just take them off, they’re- I don’t want to ruin them-”

“Ulrich.” Her gaunt face stared down at him, leaving no room for argument.

He picked at the black fabric carefully at first, finding the places where runs were already starting to show before finally sinking his nails in. The clothing tore easily and he pulled the holes wider, the innocent sound filthy in his ears and her inner thighs impossibly warm and soft where they trapped his fingers against the nylon. His throat tightened when he pulled apart the wet patches, a tiny uncomfortable noise escaping him when his hands inevitably brushed against her curls. More heat, here, how could a person be so warm?

“Good boy.” She cooed. Ulrich squeaked.

He tried to take his hands back but she anticipated this and held one of them fast. She shifted closer and Ulrich drew in a sharp breath when she guided his hand between her thighs. He tensed reflexively but the movement only pressed him closer, coated his palm with wetness. She was still looking at him, and now that he had a free hand he couldn’t help but hide his face. She giggled, a hum in her throat.

“You can’t even look at me?” She asked, still guiding his hand slowly. “What a lousy performer…” She dragged Ulrich’s fingers deeper, wetting his fingers and raising his blood pressure. He couldn’t formulate a response.

Finally she let up, but before Ulrich could react her knees were on either side of his head. She was so close now he thought he might actually die.

Her voice floated in from somewhere above him. “Maybe this would work better for you.”

Her skirt, gathered in her hand, fluttered down around him and she ground against him. The friction parted his lips and her taste flooded his mouth, her scent fogged his frantically disconnected thoughts. Her skin and the rush of blood in his ears dampened most of the obscene sounds of their contact and the shelter of her skirt left him in blessed darkness, though Ulrich kept his eyes shut tightly anyway. He remembered himself enough to realize he should probably be doing something and brought his hands blindly up to rest around the small of her back, giving himself some semblance of leverage while he searched her tentatively with his tongue, getting braver as time passed. His faculties occupied, he slipped into a sort of trance and hardly noticed when she’d all but stopped moving to let him take over. The muscles in her legs twitched hard around him when he licked just this way, when he pressed just so, just like he’d practiced, her moans washed into him from a world away and he moved to hold around her thighs and keep her right where he wanted her. His tongue bore down, exploratory movements turning to harsh pressures and he had to hold tighter to keep her hips from jerking away. An undelicate groan rattled through her and then she was tightening around him, her legs locking up in time with her pulses. He ate her through it, easing up gradually until she was only shivering slightly above him. Ulrich breathed deeply. She was the universe in his lungs and on his tongue. Filled with something other than himself, his thoughts were soft and his world was quiet.

The respite was brief; the sanctuary of her skirt disappeared and the light of the dressing room brought him back to his bones. She slid back so she could kiss him and Ulrich’s self-consciousness notched back up when he felt her slide over his chest, wet. His messy face hadn’t seemed nearly as dire a moment ago as it did now under the light and under her kisses. She leaned back and smiled.

“Your turn.” No-

“No-“

She was already positioning herself between his knees. She spread his legs around herself gently and Ulrich didn’t fight her, despite his weakly mumbled protests. She reached for his belt with both hands, deliberately taking her time and moving her face much closer to him than she needed to. He was clearly showing through his pants and she nosed against him, ran her teeth over the fabric. He squirmed under her fingers when they roamed over him, drawing out the task of working him free. He covered his face with both hands even before he felt her breath against his skin. He could hear the smile in her voice when she spoke but couldn’t quite process what she was saying, then her lips closed over him and coherent thought scattered apart and scuttled away into the dark.

She had done this to him before, and there was nothing special about today, but Ulrich’s constitution meant every time was a neon vertigo of heat and sensation that was terrifying and filthy but, please don’t stop, he mumbled, only half aware he was speaking. His hands were still hiding his face but his fingers flexed sporadically as tension rolled through his body in erratic burning waves, he whined and tightened them in his own hair as his mouth fell slack. His breath was short and when the warmth was too much it stopped altogether for a moment, like he was trying to trap the pressure inside himself.

She was excessively messy. She tucked her hair behind her ear and slid down the entire length of him, putting him just a little past the back of her throat, and deliberately pressed her mouth through the tufts of hair at the base to smear the remains of her lipstick on the skin underneath. Ulrich shook and his hips spasmed forward, some sensible part of him feeling guilty when he felt her stifle a gag.

"Please,” he whimpered again, begging for nothing in particular. Her lips slid off of him with a wet kissing sound that made Ulrich whine and she set to work with her hands, but her pace was agonizingly slow.

“Look at me honey.” Her voice filled his ears like molasses.

He looked, he watched and made desperate little vocalizations while her perfectly manicured fingertips stood out starkly pressed into his red skin, dragging up, up, over, through the slick of saliva and precum and back down as she licked across the head. She let go to drag her nails down over his hips and push his thighs wide apart. Ulrich watched himself disappear inside her mouth again, could not think. Her fingers pressed over his balls, the pressure moving in time with her mouth and he was done in immediately, jerking his head to hide behind one clumsy hand as stars burst in his vision and an uncharacteristically loud moan wrenched from his mouth. He tried to hold his hips still as he came down her throat, though she didn’t seem to mind much at all and swallowed him easily.

She slid off of him carefully, leaving him clean and oversensitive as he relaxed boneless into the couch cushions, again temporarily losing the ability to care about much of anything. Here were her lips again on his, just a twinge of heat threading in his lower belly as he tasted himself. Then she was gone, and he dimly registered he was being redressed, from the waist down at least.

He opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed. She had stood and already she was right back in order, the only evidence anything might be amiss being her hair out of its keep. She smiled. She kissed him, a chaste little peck on the cheek, then pressed his glasses into his hand.

“Walk me home,” she said.


End file.
